Damned If You Do by Marie Sexton

Author:Marie Sexton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Devils;Angels;Hell;tent revival;snake handling;romantic comedy;contemporary fantasy;satire
Publisher: Samhain Publishing, Ltd.
Published: 2016-06-13T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter Seven

On the Highway Subway to Hell

Abaddon returned to Hell that night. He could have lingered near the revival, drifting in the abyss, out of sight of human eyes but near enough to keep an eye on Seth, but eventually, even devils needed rest.

And he needed time to think.

His apartment felt smaller than ever. Tenements in Hell had one window, all with a spectacular view of a brick wall six inches away. Sounds echoed through the hallways at all hours of the night—screaming, pounding, radios turned up too loud. Sometimes the sounds of babies crying, even though no infants resided in Hell. Sometimes dogs barking or roosters crowing, even though no Earthly animals resided in Hell either. Sometimes the Hounds of Hell brayed all night, chasing some doomed prey. The clamor changed every other week or so, in an effort to keep the locals from growing complacent. Still, after a few decades, there wasn’t much that could surprise Abaddon.

He couldn’t blame his lack of sleep on Hell.

He turned the revival and the snakes over and over in his mind, picturing the scars on Seth’s neck. He considered the unnatural brightness of Seth’s soul, and his claim of being able to heal people.

There was something going on here. Something Abaddon hadn’t quite recognized until now. He needed to talk to Baphomet, and the only way to do that was to go back to work.

Traveling on the mortal plane was easy, but by design, traveling in Hell was…well, it was hell. The subway smelled, as usual. The exact odor varied from day to day, but it was never pleasant. Today’s aroma seemed to be a blend of vomit and rotting fish. Also as usual, there were no seats available. They were all taken by mimes, surly teenagers, or large purses that bit your hand if you tried to move them. The one seat nobody was sitting in contained a noxious puddle that was undoubtedly the source of the stink du jour.

Abaddon hung onto the overhead loop and wished for a cup of coffee.

When he finally reached his office, he took the stairs to the hundred and thirty-second floor (the elevator was always broken). He had to stop to catch his breath midway up, even after all these years. His luck was with him, though. He found Baphomet almost immediately. He was at his desk with a three-foot-high stack of “You’re pre-approved!” announcements, ready to be folded and stuffed into envelopes. And when it came to sealing envelopes in Hell, there were no shortcuts. Each envelope flap had to be licked by some poor devil.

Baphomet put the most recent envelope aside and looked up with a smile. “Abaddon! Where have you been?”

“Topside.” Abaddon scrubbed his fingers through his hair as he glanced around, making sure no managers were nearby. Most of the cubicles around them were empty, so he grabbed a chair and pulled it up next to Baphomet’s desk.

“What in the world are you doing?” Baphomet asked, his voice an urgent whisper as he leaned toward Abaddon.

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